Did I Mention I Love You?

by Estelle Maskame

  “I hate him,” he spits. With his eyes now trained on the window again, I approach him in an effort to comfort him. His features might be hard and his expression might be twisted, but I know he’s genuinely upset. I can hear it in his voice, and I can see it in his eyes.

  It’s dark now, and the music from the beach is beginning to fade away to nothing as the party wraps up. The moon is floating above the ocean and there’s a soft glow illuminating the condo. Tyler’s face is lit up, and I slowly edge over to the bed, where he’s slumped. His eyes drift up to meet mine when I step in front of him.

  I’m shivering. Not because it’s cold in here, but because nerves are rattling every inch of my body. Tyler’s still holding my stare and he just looks anxious and I wonder if he’s expecting me to bombard him with more questions, but that’s not my intention. My intentions are better.

  Nervously, I reach out for his face and cup his jaw with both hands, forcing him to hold my gaze as I sit myself down on his lap. He doesn’t budge, doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. I don’t think I’m quite breathing either. I move my lips to his but linger before I get there, and we stay like that, just him and me, for a short while. It’s comforting yet absolutely terrifying at the same time, and I know he’s just waiting for me to lean in, and I know I want to, but I wait. I wait until I feel his breath against my cheek.

  “Thank you for trusting me,” I whisper ever so carefully against his jaw, and then I finally kiss him.

  Through the darkness and the silence, something ignites. I don’t know what it is, I can’t put my finger on it, but I feel it. I feel the way my pulse takes off and my heart aches in my chest, and I feel the way goose bumps begin to appear all over my body, the hairs on my arms rising, and I feel Tyler’s lips against mine. Plump and moist and eager, just like always. I can feel him channeling his hurt, his anger…I can feel him channeling it into desire. It’s that desire for something we both want but can’t have.

  He tastes like beer and tobacco, but there’s something enthralling about it. It’s so familiar, because it’s so him, his permanent taste. He kisses me slowly and slips his hands under my skirt, squeezing my ass as he sits up. I’m still in his lap and I press my chest hard against his as I rub my thumbs against his skin, his jaw still cupped between my hands. I feel the muscles in his arms tighten as he lifts me off his lap and lays me back down on the bed next to him. My entire body feels like ice, frozen beneath him as he hovers over me, his hand sliding along my thigh beneath my skirt. For a second I worry that I’m suffering from paralysis, but my lips are still moving, still kissing, so I’m not. It’s just anxiety and the fear of the unknown.

  But no matter how nervous and nauseated I’m starting to feel, I refuse to tear my lips away from Tyler’s. He suddenly intensifies the kiss, quickening the pace, and while my lips are locked with his, I let go of his face and shrug off my sweater. I pull it out from beneath me and toss it to the side. When my hands find their way back to Tyler, they’re reaching for his white T-shirt. My arms feel numb as I awkwardly fumble around with the hem, trying my best to figure out how to pull off his shirt without breaking the kiss. He notices my struggle and laughs against my lips. It’s a hearty laugh, the kind of laugh that makes you smile back, a laugh that makes you feel comfortable. Pulling away and sitting on his knees, he swiftly yanks the T-shirt off and throws it over his shoulder. My cheeks flush with color as my eyes linger on his chest and his abs and the indention of his V lines, and it makes me wonder if I’m dreaming, because Tyler belongs in Abercrombie & Fitch, not here on the bed with me.

  He moves his body back over mine and presses his lips to my collarbone, one hand gripping my waist, the other edging its way up my skirt again. He kisses my skin slowly as I tangle my hands through his hair, twirling the strands around my fingers. My eyes are closed, and I rest my chin on his forehead as I try to steady my breathing, because I’ve never been so excited and nervous in my entire life. The heat from his chest contrasts with my shivering as the tips of his fingers run along the lace that decorates the top of my underwear. My stomach churns in anticipation, and for a moment I feel like I might throw up.

  He’s so experienced and has everything down to a T, and I’m so inexperienced and have yet to discover why guys find boobs so attractive. So many fleeting thoughts come and go, like when do I move my hands? Where do I put them? Do I wait for him to advance or do I make the move myself? Does he expect me to moan? Do I moan? I can’t possibly imagine myself moaning. Am I supposed to be doing something right now, like unbuttoning his jeans or kissing his neck? Who was the first person to ever have sex, anyway? John F. Kennedy was a total player, and if the beloved former president of our nation was able to seduce girls at his every whim, then I’m pretty sure that sex can’t be that bad. Those girls would not have thrown themselves into the president’s bed if sex was terrible. For a second I wonder why I’m thinking about our assassinated president. I bet if Lee Harvey Oswald was still alive even he wouldn’t be thinking about JFK while getting it on with his wife. And he freaking killed the guy.

  Stop it, Eden.

  Tyler’s lips trail kisses from my collarbone up to my jaw as his hands explore my body, one running from my waist to my face. He brushes my cheek with his thumb, and I can feel his affection through his fingertips and the way they leave a warm trace over my skin. I never want it to end, even when I’m losing my breath and tightening my grip on his hair. I don’t mean to, but I end up tugging on the ends as I arch my back.

  Thankfully, Tyler leads me through it all, never once saying anything for the rest of the night. Even when I hesitate at one point, struck with worry over what he’ll think when he sees my body, he pauses, waiting until I swallow the nerves before continuing. And even when he’s undoing the clasp of my bra and even when he gets up to kick off his jeans and even when he’s fumbling around in his wallet, he never once says a word, but I like it this way. I like the deafening silence of the whole experience as I stumble my way through it with the person I’ve fallen headfirst for.

  That’s what makes all of this better.

  It’s because I’m with Tyler.

  Not Jake and not Snotty Scotty, the guy from algebra class, but Tyler. The guy with the secrets and the weaknesses, the guy who trusted me enough to admit them all to me. I respect him for that. It took a lot for him to tell me the truth and now I only want him even more. I don’t want this to stop. Tyler and I…we shouldn’t be together and we shouldn’t be doing what we’re doing, because the bottom line is that we’re stepsiblings, no matter how much we wish we weren’t. I’m so attracted to everything about him, and I shouldn’t have to feel like I’m doing something wrong because of it. It’s not wrong. Where’s the blood relation? There isn’t one.

  I just know that if anyone ever found out the truth about Tyler and me, we’d be frowned upon. I can’t even begin to imagine how we’d go about telling our parents. How do you break the news to a married couple that their kids are dating each other? How does all of this work?

  There’s no going back from this moment. There’s no changing the way Tyler’s groaning against my ear, no erasing the fact that I’m digging my nails into his back, no forgetting the way our hips are rolling together.

  Because Tyler might have told me his secrets, but now he has a new one.

  Chapter 28

  When I wake up later in the morning and take in the sight of the room around me, I don’t particularly feel different. You’re supposed to be a different person; you’re supposed to see everything in a new light. But I feel the exact same as I felt last night, except now I’ve got a headache. My body isn’t in mortal agony and I don’t want to cry, but I’m not exactly basking in joy either. It just feels like any other morning, a new day.

  My throat feels dry, like I’ve been walking in a desert for a week and haven’t come across a water source yet, and my voice sounds raspy as I sit up and call out for Tyler. That’s another thing I thought would be different after you lose your
virginity: I thought you would wake up next to the person you’re so infatuated with.

  A moment of panic sweeps through my body. Maybe Tyler left. Maybe he abandoned me here, took off before I woke up, regretting what happened and running away. The condo is too quiet. It shouldn’t be. Tyler should be by my side like in the movies, where the actors wake up and the guy kisses the girl’s forehead or plays with her hair or whispers that he loves her, or just something.

  I glance around the room and see the curtains are pulled over the small window again. I can’t even figure out if it’s morning or if it’s the middle of the night or if it’s two days later, because the room is dull and starved of light.

  Scrunching my face up, I grip the sheets around me and glance back over to the mirror on my right. I’m completely bare. With a gasp, I yank the sheets up to cover my chest and stare at my reflection, horrified.

  Where the hell is Tyler?

  The bedroom door opens then, stiff against the fluffy carpet. Tyler elbows it open fully and takes a step into the room, his face a little pale. I’m just relieved that he’s still here. He’s fully dressed, and there’s a small smile on his lips as he meets my eyes.

  “I was just about to wake you up,” he says, his voice soft. The emerald shade in his eyes is a light green, and I know it’s because he’s calm. That’s what I’ve noticed most over the weeks that I’ve been here: Tyler’s eyes and the way they reflect his mood. Dull and light: vulnerable. Normal: cocky jackass. Dark and vibrant: he’s furious to the point where he could possibly kill someone.

  “I thought you left,” I admit, realizing that I was overreacting. I know Tyler wouldn’t leave me, because I know he wouldn’t treat me like that. I hope he wouldn’t treat me like that.

  He gives me a hard look, appalled. “I’m not that much of an asshole.” The corners of his lips pull back up into a smile as he glances away, almost shyly, like his ego has been bruised and he’s lost all his confidence. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  I spot the bright mint color of my skirt in his hands, and when he notices me staring at my clothes, it’s like he remembers why he’s entered the room. “Here,” he says, carefully placing the clothing on the bottom of the bed. He stands there awkwardly. He can’t really hold my gaze; he can only glance back and forth between me and my clothes and the window and the floor and anything else he can look at. Color rises in his cheeks.

  “Are you okay?”

  Finally his eyes lock on mine and his entire face flushes pink. He rubs at the back of his neck as he strains it to one side. “Sorry,” he murmurs, but I can hear the nervousness in his tone. “I’m—I’m not really used to, like, this.” He pauses for a second. “We should probably talk about, uh, last night.”

  I’m still hugging the sheets to my chest, but by now there’s a smile on my lips. I think it’s the first time I’ve seen Tyler appear truly anxious and out of his comfort zone. Usually he’s so in control of situations and so confident, and now here he is, mumbling and unable to look at me properly. But then I think about his words and I immediately wipe the smile from my face.

  “Was I bad?” I dare myself to ask.

  “No, no,” he says quickly. He lightens up a little, at least enough to give a small laugh. “I meant more along the lines of…you know, where do we stand now?”

  We exchange a long glance. He’s biting his lip, holding his breath while he waits for me to answer. But honestly? I have no idea. If anything, it’s just made our complicated situation feel all the more real and all the more intense.

  “I’m not sure,” I admit. “Where do you want us to stand?”

  “I’m not sure.” He heaves a sigh and stuffs his hands into his pockets, but it’s clear he’s thinking deeply about something, his face a picture of concentration. “Answer me this: do you regret it?”

  “No,” I say immediately. How could I regret something I wanted so desperately? “Do you?”

  “You know I don’t,” he murmurs, and then he smiles another one of those genuine smiles, the ones I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get over. He reaches for my clothes again and walks around the bed with them, stopping by my side and placing them in my lap above the sheets. He’s still smiling. “We’ll figure all of this out. Eventually. But for now, get dressed, because we really need to go. Troy-James just called and he’s on his way home.”

  I purse my lips at him a little sheepishly as I hug the comforter to my body, not moving an inch. “Can you, uh, give me a sec?”

  “You’re acting like I haven’t seen you naked,” he says, but it’s playful and he nods. “Be quick,” he calls over his shoulder as he leaves the room.

  Once he’s gone I grab my skirt and pull it on under the sheets, still too embarrassed to get out of this bed undressed. I pull on my bra and my top and then finally step out onto the carpet, the room feeling as though it’s spinning a little. As I slip my sweater on and wrap it around my body, I press a hand to my forehead and breathe for a few seconds. I felt fine until I stood up; now it feels like my blood is poison and it’s killing me from the inside.

  When I make my way through to the kitchen, Tyler is hovering by the trash can, tipping a tray of glass into it. I glance over the countertop and into the living room, where sunshine is streaming in through the huge windows and casting light over everything. I take note of how everything has been tidied to the point where the place looks immaculate, like we were never here. He must have cleaned up all the shards from the glass that he smashed last night while I was still sleeping.

  With a sigh, he shoves the tray into a cupboard and turns to me, rubbing his hands together. “I called us a cab,” he tells me. He steals a glance at his watch and nods to the door. “I know it’s weird, but I can’t exactly ask someone for a ride without having them wonder what the hell we’ve been doing. We can’t look suspicious, remember? The cab driver won’t know us. It should be here any second.”

  I give him a weak nod. “Where are my shoes?” The carpet keeps my bare feet warm, but I realize I’m not exactly sure where my Converse have ended up. I quickly scan the living room for them.

  “I don’t know,” Tyler says, and his eyes also join in the search. “But we need to get outta here.”

  “But my shoes—” I try to protest, upset that I’ve lost them. My favorite pair of Chucks too: the ones with my favorite lyrics written along the side. The ones that I pull on to go to school, to go grocery shopping for my mom, to wear to beach parties when I’m drunk and want to kiss my stepbrother.

  “I’ll buy you a new pair. Now come on,” Tyler urges, growing slightly impatient. He furrows his eyebrows as he heads over to the door, opening it up and standing out in the lobby, waiting for me to join him. When I do, he locks up and slides the key under the doormat.

  The polished tiles beneath my feet feel cold, and I dash across the lobby and into the elevator before Tyler even has a chance to turn around, but when he does, he smirks before joining me inside right before the doors close.

  He looks at me hard as the elevator begins to move, his expression stern, but he’s struggling to suppress the smirk. “I don’t think we should mention last night to our parents.”

  “I don’t think we should mention last night to anyone,” I correct, but even though we’re only joking around, I tense up. I just want to sigh endlessly. That’s all this is, one huge sigh, because we have no idea what we’re doing.

  Tyler must notice the worry in my eyes, because he reaches over and gently grasps my hand the same way he did last night when he was looking after me. I stare at our hands for a moment, taking in the way they look when they’re interlocked together. I like it. When I glance up at him, he only smiles and tightens his fingers around mine.

  There’s a thought lingering in my head, that perhaps we’ll never be able to tell anyone, and that we’ll constantly be whispering, “Shhh, this is a secret,” to each other. Keeping this a secret is hard, but telling is harder. We can never win.

 
When the elevator doors open, Tyler leads me through the lobby to the main entrance, and through the glass doors, we can see a cab parked by the sidewalk. I’m hesitant about walking outside barefoot, but I quickly get over it and follow Tyler down the steps and into the vehicle. A middle-aged woman greets us, hungover smile on her lips.

  It takes us almost twenty minutes to get back to the house, which is surprising considering it’s Sunday morning and the traffic is minimal. I think the cab driver is taking advantage of the fact that we’re young, assuming that therefore we must be naive and completely blind. She takes at least five wrong turns, murmuring, “Oops, not this one!” each time. I’m glaring at her from the backseat as she drives, noticing the way she’s purposely riding up the fare and prolonging the time I have to sit in silence overthinking everything about last night. It’s making me feel nauseous, but Tyler only shrugs at me when I point to the meter with a scowl on my face. He doesn’t bother to argue about it, just hands the driver twenty bucks and yanks me out of the car, which promptly zooms off the second I’ve shut the door.

  “Where did you tell them you were going last night?” Tyler asks as we linger outside the house for a moment, not quite sure how we’re going to handle our parents. I look like trash and my shoes are gone and I most likely smell of booze.

  “The movies,” I say.

  Tyler lets out a breath and shakes his head down at me. “The movies? Where’s your originality?”

  “What was your excuse?” I fire at him.

  “They didn’t get one. I left before they could notice.”

  “Well,” I say, “that doesn’t surprise me.”

  He chuckles, but he still appears slightly anxious when he glances back at the house. We have no choice but to go inside—we’ll have to eventually. I wish I could stay away from it, away from Dad and away from Ella, hidden somewhere with Tyler while he tells me more about his life. That would be perfect.